pedros bummed. he came over and took my last guiness and just started venting: im the biggest idiot you know. i feel like bobby cox the manager of the atlanta braves. fuckers never gonna have a pitching staff like that again. there will never be an owner like ted turner again - who bought the team way back when when nobody gave a shit about baseball teams and helped him build a dynasty. and sure people will say yeah but you had some great talent on those teams but in the end isnt it about results, about winning the big one. i havent won shit since last century and my pitching staff is bettern his and just as old and wiley. right now what ive got is one of those 72 braves teams and im jerry royster.i believe in absolute honesty and courage and sure i lie sometimes. but im not lying right now. i feel like shit and i had a great chance at greatness not too very long ago and i did not acheive what i wanted. sure jerry royster hit a few home runs in seventy two but so did you, so did everyone. its called being a professional. our job is to hit a few. but if you wanna be an all star you gotta hit a few inside the parkers. you gotta steal third a few times. in the same game. in the same inning. and when you get bunted in you tell the catcher that drinks are on me. and when they throw high and tight on your ass you say tell him to throw that one again up there and im gonna not run at him im gonna bash you in the fucking redneck with this louisville slugger and tony thats what i love about baseball, sure the ump will call time and tell us to shut the hell up but in baseball eveyrone treats each other like men. no one sues each other. no one takes that shit personally. everyone knows its a game and why cant life be a game too? why is there no scoreboard to tell you how its going, why cant there be huge salaries after you have a good year and baseball cards. and then pedro passed out on my leather couch. again. turns out he swiped the rest of my vicadins and popped two before draining the beer. light weight. me, im in high spirits. three people just called to see if i needed anything. just anything at all. what awesome friends i have. as a matter of fact, i do need a ride down to the santa monica fish store to pick up some fresh scallops so rene can make some curry scallops and shrimp. mmmmm. its rainy here in america and rene has to work another saturday without her. so i tried to find the number of my first girlfriend ever cuz i havent talked to her in years and her boys must be graduating college by now or some shit. but no, found no number. im a loser. if youre out there, write me. send me a picture of charlie and matt. im sure theyre handsome devils. in other news some eighteen year old asshole spouting off devil sayings ran over a group of kids in my beloved isla vista killing four people as they strolled down sabado tarde. fuckass was going sixty! on a friday night you can barely go six! and i have always said that they should outlaw cars on the weekends in iv and close off the streets and let the kids open container and walk around and make out and let the bands play and the girlies dance and of course my ideas are never heard until its too late and sure tsar hasnt gone platinum yet but tell me, how many bands have come outta IV since they started cracking down on "noise" on the glorious peninsula where i yearn to return? thanks to my home gurl amy for always keeping me in the know. and that makes four friends who gave me what i needed and it's barely lunchtime and i have one thing to say about the rumors that gary sheffield was going to be traded to the mets in a three team shuffle including my cubs that woulda sent sammy sosa to the dodgers. and here it is: tribune corp you fuckers, have you absolutely no shame? you just bought the frigging LA Times, and you cannot afford to pay Sammy Sosa? Bleacher seats are now $20! thats right to sit on a bench on a Tuesday night cost $20 and you want to get rid of the only reason why anyone would seriously consider doing that? i cannot wait to die and go to heaven because the first thing that i will say to st. peter is may i please have an escort to hell so i can poke out the eyes of all the suits who have ruined the cubs. and st. peter will say, good thing you have all of eternity cuz theres a line a mile long for that road trip, friend.